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It’s a tourist favorite, and it’s been captured in endless pictures, videos, and documentaries; the adumu, often called the “jumping dance,” is a highly recognizable ritual of Maasai life. But many tourists may not know the true meaning of this dance in Maasai culture (tribesmen will often perform an out-of-context version of it for visitors). For the Maasai, the adumu is just one in a series of rituals that make up the Eunoto, the ceremony in which the junior warriors, or morani, graduate to the ranks of manhood.

Maasai warrior society is (broadly) organized by age groups; children stay at home with parents until the teenage years, when the boys are inducted into the first stages of manhood via the Emuratta, a ritualized circumcision ceremony (women don’t have their own “age group” like boys, but do undergo some of their own rituals on the way to adulthood). Boys who successfully go through the Emuratta (one of the requirements is that you not even flinch) are officially elevated to the status of junior moran. After the ceremony, the new morani move to a “manyatta,” an encampment where they will live together for up to ten years.

Cordoned off from the rest of their tribesman and not even allowed to eat or drink in the presence of a woman (part of the reasoning behind the manyatta camp is to teach male Maasai independence, since mothers generally take care of household tasks as they’re growing up), it’s understandable that the morani jump at the chance to graduate to full adulthood…literally.

The Eunoto ceremonies may last for more than ten days, and feature singing, a parade in front of elder warriors, ritual cow slaughter, and the first sip of alcohol, traditionally made from the fermented roots of aloe and honey. But one of the most photogenic elements of the ceremony is the adumu.

The young morani form a circle, which one or two will enter at a time. Bodies held in a narrow pose, heels never touching the ground, the young warriors begin to jump. The higher and more graceful the jumping, the more appeal the warrior has to the young women looking on (giving the young men, who will have the opportunity to marry only after the Eunoto ceremony is complete, some serious motivation!). When one warrior tires (usually after just a few jumps; the height attained is often impressive, and requires serious athleticism), another takes his place. All the while, the morani forming the outer circle sing, raising the pitch of their voices to “match” the height of the jumps.

After the ceremony is over, the morani shave off their long hair as a sign of their new status as full-fledged warriors. They can now return to the community, marry, and start families of their own.

To be fair, the Sukuma—a Tanzanian people who have traditionally lived near Lake Victoria, and who total 15% of the population, making them the largest single ethnic group in the country—really deserve more credit than a mere sequel (or 83-quel). After all, they may not have invented the dance battle, but they’ve been going at it for a long time. Longer, even, than the most lucrative Hollywood franchises.

We know, it’s hard to believe ANYTHING has been going on that long.

Dancing has always been integral to Sukuma life, and many of the dances still being performed today started as a way to add a little interest to the workday; migrant farmworkers would compose and sing songs to help pass the time, using their hoes as dance-props (when they weren’t being used on the fields, presumably).

The hoes used as props in the Gobogobo dance reference Sukuma dancing’s likely origin

But whistling while you work is a far cry from fighting it out the only way your heart knows how: on the dance floor.

In the mid-1800s, that’s just what two respected Sukuma tribesmen did. Ngika and Gumha were both known as gifted dancers and composers, and both worked as medicine men in the community.

Really, a rivalry was inevitable.

But no one could agree who was the better healer, Ngika or Gumha. So, logically enough, they organized a dance battle to find out.

Of course the battle was about more than just the dance (there’s something more than dance?); it was meant as a referendum on each man’s skill as a medicine man. Before the dance began, each man concocted his most potent potions, none more important than the samba (or “good luck” medicine), all of them intended to make him more appealing to the crowd. Whoever won the dance battle clearly had the better medicines.

No one knows who won that fated dance battle (it could be that no one really “won”; supporters of each man likely decided his dancing was superior), but its rhythms have echoed down through the centuries. Both men went on to form their own dance societies, the Bagika under the leadership of Ngika, and the Bagalu headed by Gumha.

Each year, these societies (both still exist, and the Bagalu are now headed by Gumha’s grandson) and others that have followed in their footsteps participate in annual dance competitions, held every June and July in Sukumaland (which centers around the southern shores of Lake Victoria, near Mwanza). Dancers will showcase innovative new steps and dances, but some performances have become so popular that they’re revived year after year, such as the “snake dance” of the Bagika, or the “hyena dance” of the Bagalu.

Dances involving live animals, such as the Bagika “snake dance,” are perennially popular

Though the idea of yearly “battles” may seem like little more than a fun tradition, the dancers take them seriously, consulting traditional healers for medicines (which can be rubbed on the body in a lotion, worn in an amulet, or even buried beneath the dancing grounds so as to affect the most spectators), creating elaborate costumes, and sometimes using large or novelty props—from life-size puppets to plastic animals masks—to gain audience support.

The dances are always evolving (today’s dancers regularly infuse hip-hop moves into their dances), but the tradition is steadfast.

…which means there’s lots of room for sequels. Just in case anyone in Hollywood wants to talk with us…

Like many first time travelers, I was initially drawn to Tanzania because of its phenomenal wildlife populations. You often hear stories of lion kills, cheetahs running, huge herds of wildebeest and zebra, leopard sightings, and the possibility of checking the Big 5 off your safari checklist. With these images ingrained in my mind, I left for Tanzania in 2006 with dreams of seeing it all. While I came away with more than my share of stories, it was not the animals that touched me the most. It was the people.

When I found out that I was going to join the Signature Thomson Safari in May, I was most looking forward to the Maasai visit portion of the trip. Although I have spent a considerable amount of time in Tanzania, I hadn’t yet traveled with Thomson and had the opportunity to meet the Maasai in their local setting. The Maasai I had met had either left their bomas long ago to live in the cities or were part of a scheduled visit along well-traveled paths teeming with tourists, which I’ve found can feel a bit contrived and inauthentic.

One day during the Signature Thomson Safari last May, my eight safari companions and I got into our Land Rovers and took off for what we were told was an unscheduled, spontaneous village visit. As we approached the village, dozens of kids ran as fast as they could beside our vehicle smiling, laughing and waving at us. As we got out of the vehicle, we saw a group of Maasai boys, about 30-40 strong, gathering on the outskirts of the boma.

Maasai woman and son in front of the boma she is building to honor her son's achievement.

Maasai women singing and chanting during the ceremony. The festivities warranted full regalia, jewelry and face paint for these proud mothers.

Warrior marching in for the start of the ceremony.

Warriors watching the jumping circle, admiring and laughing at the various attempts by their peers to jump the highest.

Young warrior smiling

Maasai woman singing with young son on her back.

Young Maasai warriors marching in to join their mothers in song and celebration.

Maasai women chanting before being joined by the young warriors.

Warrior preparing to show off his jumping skills in the circle.

Maasai women singing to their sons in honor of their impending inititations.

As we walked into the main area of the boma, a group of 20 women started singing, jumping and laughing as if on cue. We naively assumed they were singing a welcome song for us. After several minutes, the group of boys began dancing slowly towards the women to the deep, rumbling beat of a make-shift horn crafted from a plastic pipe. The women began to move towards them and the two groups combined creating one harmonious chant. Everyone in the village was looking on, clapping and singing – very few of the Maasai paid any attention to us standing there watching. At this point, we were in complete awe, and passed a look around to one another that said “this was definitely not planned for us”.

Our Thomson guide, James (who is Maasai), explained that we had stumbled upon a rite of passage ceremony for the communities’ young generation of warriors. We quickly came to realize the women were not singing for our benefit; the women were singing to the warriors, their sons, in honor of their impending initiations. The warriors were showing off their skills by forming a circle and jumping, and they were celebrating their long journey to this point.

James further explained that this ceremony marked the boys’ transition into adulthood as well as a transition to move into a new manyatta (group of huts) specially built by their mothers. In the near future, once warrior training was complete, another ceremony was to take place where the mothers shave their sons’ long, braided hair to officially mark the warriors’ transition into the category of elders.

We couldn’t believe we had the opportunity to experience this rare, intimate moment. The raw emotion that the mothers and warriors displayed – love, devotion, pride and happiness – moved each of us. Though we could not communicate directly or speak Maa, we had been present for something more powerful than words can describe. What surprised me the most was that we were not looked at as unwelcome visitors, instead we were welcomed into the ceremony as part of the community. This is the “karibu spirit” that Tanzanians embody, regardless of tribe. This is the reason I love returning to Tanzania year after year.

Thomson Safaris

Founded in 1981 and based in Watertown Massachusetts, Thomson Safaris has been handcrafting trips-of-a-lifetime for over 30 years. Tanzania is our only destination, and has truly become our second home. We’re excited to be able to share it with you through stories and features on our blog.